The Power of Language

We’re all currently experiencing the world in an utterly unique way. No one else knows exactly what we are thinking, but language provides a bridge for us to find points of commonality. It can give us the wonderful feeling of recognition that blooms during a good conversation. That feeling is what we mean when we say that something has touched us. For a brief moment, we are known. Someone else understands us, and it feels good.

I believe in the power of language to connect us to each other and cultivate our knowledge of the world. At the end of the day, brand identity is really about getting to the heart of who you are and what you want to achieve. Let’s have a conversation about that.

The Real Failure of GoogaMooga

The cancellation of Sunday’s GoogaMooga festival sucked. Not just for my personal, selfish reasons like not wanting to stand in line for an hour in the rain BEFORE news of the cancellation traveled grapevine-style down the line. That was unprofessional and thoughtless and the work of people who clearly do NOT want any business in the future. But hey, I’ll live. (And if I die of pneumonia from my hour standing still in the chilly rain, somebody hit the organizers and make them stare at good food without offering them any. Yeah.)

googa 1

You know who may not live? The small businesses that had stands at the festival. To prepare for this shit-show-ganza, the hard-working, talented people behind those businesses had to hire extra staff, buy and prep a ton of food, transport it all to the middle of a field, and set up in advance of the crowds. I know because I saw this from behind a chain link fence that separated me from Handing My Money To Them to buy that delicious food. I know because while the chain link fence prevented my body from getting through to them, the tantalizing aromas of what they were cooking could still waft through and sway me into thinking that I’d wait just a little bit longer.

All of that preparation costs money. Major major money that should be going toward rent for their restaurants, gas and parking for their food trucks, and possibly a couple drinks for their hard work GODDAMIT!!

googa 2

Yes, to some degree, this is my hunger rage speaking. After all, I am a spoiled Brooklyn foodie who was attending this event after working out extra hard so I could eat more. #firstworldproblems to the max. I get it. But I’m SO damn angry on behalf of those small businesses because this goddamn fuckface of a festival was supposed to be a good thing for them. Expose them to new customers and help them turn a profit. It’s hard enough to do that under normal circumstances, especially in this economy, and Googa is going to make it even harder??

One of the organizers, Superfly co-founder Jonathan Mayers, is quoted on Gothamist saying, ”Um, well, our intentions are to have a celebration, to hold something in an iconic park to promote all the amazing local businesses. So coming from that place, I feel really good about the work we do. We tried very hard to make people happy, but not everyone is going to be happy.”

Excuse me, Mr. Co-Fuckface, but I’d like to hear more about what you’re doing to make sure that you haven’t put those “amazing local businesses” OUT of business through your team’s inability to plan ahead or even communicate well when it became clear that a cancellation would occur.

The whole success of GoogaMooga (if the word success can be used) was based on the draw of these local vendors. Now they’re the ones getting screwed over. I can handle an hour out of my day (although not without screaming “fuuuuuck yooooou” into the rain a few times). These people can not handle losing tens of thousands of dollars.

Please, if you want to support local business, and make sure that amazing talented chefs and restauranteurs won’t disappear from our amazing city, go eat at their restaurants. While the Greatly Disappointing Googa shared their list of food vendors to be “helpful”, I went ahead and made a Google map with their actual locations. Because I fucking care. And because, honestly, when it’s not MY issue but I want to help… I need someone to make it as easy for me as possible. So here, it’s easy, just look up whichever awesome restaurant is closest to you and GO EAT. And if there’s a crazy-looking asian chick sputtering F-bombs in between every savory bite, come say hi. It’s probably me.

A Very VIP Night

On an ordinary Thursday evening in mid-April, a curated group of cocktail connoisseurs were invited to the mysteriously named Infused Night, with even more mysterious promises of fun and games throughout the city.

cayrum manhattans

Photo by Jenny Adams (www.jennyadamsfreelance.com).

Hosted by Cayrum, a blend of golden Dominican rum, fresh ginger root, and natural honey that recently launched in New York City, our night began at Haven, an airy rooftop bar in Times Square. Guests were served a modernized Manhattan and the pleasantly Spicy Kiki, made with muddled cilantro and serrano peppers. Both drinks highlighted the smooth sweetness and ginger spice of Cayrum in different ways.

After an hour of cocktails and gazing at the impressive view, we were whisked away in black SUVs to our surprise second location. We arrived at Keats to find karaoke, trays of Cayrum shots (mm, smooth!), and a ginger ale concoction that played off the spiced ginger notes wonderfully. Although shy at first, our group took over the karaoke stage to deliver rousing renditions of Britney Spears classics until the black SUVs showed up again.

group

Photo by Jenny Adams (www.jennyadamsfreelance.com).

The third surprise stop was Hog Pit in Chelsea, with a long wide table laden with fried pickles, succulent wings, savory sliders, deviled eggs, and fried frog legs. Our appetites thoughtfully satiated, trays arrived with more shots of Cayrum, and an announcement that we were entered into a darts tournament. Sharp flying objects and copious amounts of alcohol seemed ill-advised, but the fried frog legs had imbued us all with a sense of adventurousness. Or perhaps the free-flowing golden drams of infused rum did that, it’s hard to say.

After an intense no-holds-barred battle, during which three surprise bullseyes were scored (did this rum have magical properties?), we gathered for a picture to commemorate the moment. And then it was off into the SUVs again, and onward to our final destination.

Arriving at Stash, we were ushered in past the waiting line and into an underground cavern that resembled an ornately decorated subway tunnel. Rich red and gold tiles lined the curved ceiling, which was bathed in a warm glow. Our banquette awaited, with yet another table full of drinks, ice, and mixers, but nobody sat down. The music inspired us to dance away the rest of our Infused Night.

cayrum

Photo by Jenny Adams (www.jennyadamsfreelance.com).

Future events are being planned, and Cayrum selects their Facebook fans as guests. So like them and give it a try in the meantime. The awesome night they planned definitely sweetened me up to their cause, but honestly, it’s a great drink made the right way (aged for years in bourbon oak barrels and with real honey and ginger instead of powders). Delicious in straight up shots, on the rocks, or mixed into a cocktail, it’s an easy way to ease into the warm weather we’re finally having.

Berlin

Germans! I salute you.

Every time I travel, there is one defining moment that drives the point home for me: I am somewhere I’ve never been before, somewhere that is unlike any other place in time. In some cases, it’s immediate, like landing in Iceland and seeing the alien moonscape of the land beneath an eerie neon deep blue sky. At other times, it takes a few days, like when I stepped out of a Tube station in London and looked straight up at Big Ben (which was renamed the Elizabeth Tower during the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, btw… but good luck getting us Americans to call it that!).

Earlier this month, I flew to Berlin and then Edinburgh. Although I had a short list of must-haves for each city, my true goals would have appalled a type-A traveler. I was really there to relax, take enough pictures to make cool albums on Facebook, try new foods, and soak up precious face-time with good friends who are usually far, far away.

Doorway between Berlins.

My defining moment for Berlin came about 36 hours after I arrived at my friend M’s apartment. I’d spent most of my first full day there sleeping off an incredible wine-filled dinner at Katz Orange, followed by countless smoky scotches at a bar with an entire wall of seating that looked like high school bleachers. Sometime between scotch numbers 3 and 4, I was happily climbing all over those bleachers, hanging upside down on them, and squealing in pure delight.

When I woke up at about 4pm the next day, I crawled from M’s bedroom (I had weaseled my way in by saying I had to tell her pillow something important when M got up at a normal human hour in the morning) into the living room where she and E (my travel buddy for the Berlin portion of the trip) were curled up in blankets on the couch watching an entire season’s worth of Awkward and munching from three platters and one paper sack filled with croissants, rolls, German cold cuts, cheeses, sliced fruits, and bottles of wine and juice.

Breakfast in Bed.

“It’s the Breakfast in Bed,” M said.

“She ordered it while you were sleeping,” E added.

Good god, I loved them both so much! I’ll spare you full details of how I ate (“very much” and “with my hands and face” are probably descriptive enough). My defining moment for Berlin was seeing that spread, so European, and knowing it was delivered to M’s door. It felt familiar and yet foreign because of little touches like the neat packets of Nutella included with the condiments, as a staple instead of a special request, or the slices of headcheese, wonderfully translucent and studded with multi-colored specks of meat like some savory version of fruitcake, arranged on a platter with the other cold cuts like it was no big deal. And it wasn’t a big deal. Because I was in Berlin!

Warrior pose.

Lest you think I’m a depraved individual who spent the whole trip either drunk or hungover (not that I can disprove that statement), E and I did kick into tourist mode with trips to the Bauhaus Museum (incredible), an underground tunnel (where I fell in love with an interactive light installation) to see the Victory Column up close, Reichstag, the Brandenburg Gate, Panoramapunkt, the East Side Gallery, Museum Island (where we chased off whiny gypsies with our New Yorker ‘tude), Berliner Dom, and the interactive DDR Museum (insane shit show, but fun enough that it was worth it).

We learned how to speak German, or rather, the Germans learned how to speak us. E and I would tack “platz” onto the end of most words and repeat what we were saying aggressively until the locals gave in. Success-platz!! Along the way, we ate currywurst, kebabs from Mustafa’s (worth the wait, especially after I realized I could openly drink a bottle of Malbec while on line), proper English fry-ups at East London, and really great sausage pizza at the Fab Berlin office.

Pop that Berliner Dom Perignon.

Pop that Berliner Dom Perignon.

Our last night together, the three of us indulged in an eight-course tasting menu at Horvath with the requisite too-many bottles of wine. I’d love to describe the two restaurant meals more fully, but for now, I’m still digesting everything we experienced. It’s safe to say that I enjoyed Berlin very much, and may just be persuaded by M to return in the summer when there’s hillside karaoke and a city full of strangers to embarrass myself in front of.

For now, I’ll say auf wiedersehen (platz!) and save the tale of Edinburgh (with two more amazing friends) for another day.

Band of Cheeseballs

cheese

You guys! Last night was epic, and not because I went out and got crazy. It actually started out pretty classy with a selection of fine cheeses and nibblies like quicos (fried corn kernels covered in dark chocolate and cocoa… my new favorite thing!) and Sangiovese salame. And yes, enough wine to make it a non-classy night, cuz what else would I do with some of my closest friends in the whole wide world?

What is it about people who get you? Like, really really get you? They allow you to relax and be yourself. Your weird ass wonderful self! I hope you know that feeling. If you don’t… I’ll have you over for cheese and wine someday to help you find it. You may end up wandering the streets with no pants and only one shoe, but hey! That’s life, baby.

Some things that still have me laughing today (through the hangover haze and cleaning jag):

When I brought out the heart-shaped napkins we’d gotten on a girl trip to Iceland (best bachelorette party ever!) and we all unfolded them and put them on our heads as pretty flower petal hats. And then bullied the one who didn’t until she gave in. And then pointed at her and laughed that she gave in. (Oh. Maybe we’re mean girls. Oops.)

Calling the wedge of Tomme Krayuse (a delightful raw cow’s milk cheese with soft, chewy texture and lovely full, yet mild flavor), Tom Cruise all night. And laughing that it was short.

Remembering the set of tiny forks and spoons that Mama Channypants gave me, and getting to eat while pretending we were giants.

Getting slapped away when I try to put my awesome massage vest on people.

The impromptu intervention about my Fab shopping habit when I show off my collection of gourmet salts (rosemary, lavender, and truffle, you guys!!). The abrupt ending to the intervention when I serve up a trio of popcorn made with the different flavored salts.

The ill-advised showing of my Tinder dating app, which leads to their drunken gleeful rejection of many, many guys who probably deserved better. Many. Umm. Seriously, ladies, do I get to date any of them??

I have to admit: it was scary when all three of the other girls (women? gals?) got married. In. The. Same. Year. (Maid of honor for all. Only in charge of bachelorette parties and first dance choreography. They know me so well.) Through most of our 20s, I was the one in a long-term relationship. That was MY thing. Yet, there I was: single, drinking champagne like a champ, and wondering if I’d be left out of “married people only” things.

Yeah, turns out there aren’t any married people only things. Just really amazing friends who didn’t change personalities (or drinking habits) just because they had super fun amazing weddings. (Oh, you didn’t get the invite? …this is awkward.) They’re still the ones who can turn a busy, stressful week into something wonderful, just by being there. I’m not religious, but I can recognize when I’m blessed beyond belief to have friends like these. And hey, maybe someday they’ll help me find that man who’ll wait patiently for me to come home at 3am after a night out with them!